


Experimentation

by The_White_Rabbit42



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Implied Smut, hunter reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 02:06:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16734978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_White_Rabbit42/pseuds/The_White_Rabbit42
Summary: Sometimes the best experiments have nothing to do with science.





	Experimentation

Ever since you’d met Arthur Ketch, there was an indescribable need to figure out what made him tick.  Perhaps it was the air of mystery surrounding him. Perhaps it was just his unflappable demeanor. Maybe, it was because you liked to flirt with danger and, above all else, Ketch was a dangerous man.  

 

It wasn’t easy breaking through his professional detachment that bordered on sociopathy.  He wasn’t much for small talk when it didn’t serve a purpose, other than to fill the silence, and so far the most effective thing you’d done to engage him was prove you not only knew what you were doing, but you were more than capable of working alone.  

 

He still didn’t make idle conversation, but he was more inclined to talk.  From there, it had been a whole lot of trial and error and strategic thought.  Most of the time you committed more brain cells to him than you did any of the monsters you were tracking.  Yet, the results never changed. You hit wall after wall, and eventually you decided the man was imperturbable.  

 

Then, it happened.  

 

You hadn’t had much time between hunts to sleep, let alone catch up on laundry.  You threw the few clean things you had in a bag and once again climbed into Ketch’s car.  It wasn’t until you’d arrived that you realized just what shirt you’d ended up with. 

 

There wasn’t anything outwardly different about this one.  It was just another flannel, save half of the buttons were missing at the top, having been ripped off in a previous hunt.  It was functional, just obnoxious, and when you’d tried to wear it you found the collar constantly slipped down over a shoulder.  Relegated to bed wear until you had time to fix it, you waited until the evening before changing into it and diving into your research.  

 

_ You sat in the middle of your bed, absorbed in the lorebook in your lap.  You didn’t notice the way your shirt fell down your arm, exposing your shoulder and the thin strap to your camisole.  It wasn’t until your senses prickled, your spine tingling with discomfort that your eyes finally flashed up and noticed he was staring.   _

 

_ “What?”  You asked, caught off guard.   _

 

_ His confident air faltered, and for the first time ever, he stuttered.  “I - I was just, curious. If you’ve found something yet.”  _

 

You never would have guessed his weakness had you not caught him.  Several furtive glances later, you finally figured out it was your attire that had him out of sorts.  So you experimented. 

 

You bought yourself new shorts that featured your legs, but when you wore those he barely gave you look.  A pair of leggings beneath a long sweater, however, had him side eyeing you every chance he got. 

 

There was one time you’d accidentally walked out in just your towel, expecting him to still be gone, only to find him cleaning his pistol.  The cursory look he gave had a slightly raised brow, but immediately dropped back to his task as if to say  _ boring _ .  The stare you drew when you walked out in a modest robe and wet hair, however?  Searing, as his eyes trailed from the only visible skin above your neck to the small span of exposed skin from your calf down.  

 

It wasn’t flaunting what you had, so much as hinting at it, which shouldn’t have surprised you.  Ketch was a man with classy tastes. Why would this be any different? 

 

You weren’t big on showing skin anyway, but the moment you swapped out the layers that hid your figure completely to things that accentuated it with tact, you noticed a shift in him.  His behavior didn’t change so much as the energy surrounding him. It was the same you sometimes saw after a particularly intense hunt, one that sent most hunters, including yourself, to the bar in hopes of letting off some steam.  

 

Ketch had had his own release valve.  Whatever thrummed through his veins now, however, showed no signs of dissipating.  It ebbed and flowed, but for the most part it stuck around, sometimes creating a tension so thick between you it was electric.  

 

You drew it out, wanting to see how long he could go without snapping (or combusting, if the heat beneath his gaze was any indication).  It all came to a head when you finally created an an excuse to use your FBI outfit. 

 

You could have been anything.  Hell, you didn’t even need to be a law enforcement officer.  There were plenty of relevant professions that would have gotten the job done, but you had been saving this particular outfit for weeks now.  The pencil skirt clung to your hips in just the right way, the blazer hugging the rest of your curves without it being  _ too  _ form fitting.  

 

You didn’t even make it out of the hotel room.  You’d barely opened the door when a strong and sturdy hand landed above your head, slamming it shut.  Your brow crept up as you turned, and the look on his face was overwhelmingly  _ primal _ .  

 

“No more games,” he growled, leaning so close you were almost suffocating within his presence.  

 

Satisfaction splashed across your features in the form of a smirk.  “No more games,” you agreed. As his lips came down to claim yours, one final thought entered your mind. 

 

You couldn’t wait to see what got him this riled up in bed.  

 


End file.
